Automotive Neglect Inspired Ephiphany

I’m just going to confess.

I don’t give a flying fuck about my car. I’m being literal. I’m not talking about what it looks like or if it’s the latest in car technology though that’s true as well. I mean I don’t take care of it.

I don’t change the oil. I don’t even check the oil. *makes obscene gesture regarding oil*

The maintenance light has been on….. Since September. Yeah. That long.

I forget to put gas in until the empty light is on. And then I drive awhile more before I get around to getting gas.

Today I noticed there appears to be moss growing on the  outside driver’s side. Down low along the doors where the grime has built up. And while I’m sort of ashamed at the implications I’m also sorta loving it’s groovy natural greenness.

The idea that I can use something every day and abandon it at once.

My neglect is a  rebellious puddle to stomp and laugh in. When it’s machines that don’t breathe and we’re allowed to laugh and I don’t have to go to hell.


It’s like I dare the fucking car to complain. I dare it to tell me it won’t run like that for me. I dare it to knock or smoke or any fucking thing. Go ahead you fucking hunk of silver metal! Tell me we’re breaking up! Tell me you want more too!

But it doesn’t. It loves me. Other then producing a strange smell a couple weeks ago that sorta just went away and I blamed something maybe being dead in there and  hoped it dropped off during some high speed race to the gas station. Other than that the car just keeps going.

Or it did.

Earlier this afternoon I drove the car over to my moms. And the heater started making a noise. I heard it just under the music… the sound of a pencil being stuck between running fan blades.

Oh shit, I thought. That smell had to turn to sound eventually. What? It makes sense to me.

So I turned the music off and turned the heater up and it was enough for even the kids to question the obnoxious noise. I told them that was just the sound the car makes before take off but they’re completely used to me by now and only rolled their eyes.

When I got home I informed The Man of the results of his automotive neglect. I mean. He’s the boyfriend and has a dick so I’m pretty sure this falls into his bucket of dream chores. He went out there and poked some things and made some suggestions and

*light bulb*

I realized. He’s just fucking around out there. He doesn’t have special knowledge of Honda Pilot heater fan belt something or others. It’s just the penis. So he fucks around and tries. I don’t try ‘cause I assume some expertise is probably necessary.

Like when people assume I can iron. Or cook. Or clean. Or raise kids.  Well fuck. I’ve been doing that for years now with zero expertise and moderate success.

So tomorrow I’m going to fix that mutherfucking heater. And if I can’t I’m going to hollow out the center console, line it with brick and start burning wood there. Cause I’m skinny and I get cold damn it.

And then I think I’ll buy some oil. And drain all the oil out. Into a bucket or whatever is handy. How hard can it be?

But I’m not washing it. That mossy shit is kick ass.